First Meetings
by Brown Eyes Parker
Summary: Five different ways Joan and Sherlock could have met. AU. Spoiler Free. Rated T. Joanlock.


**First Meetings**

 **A Joan & Sherlock Story**

 **By Brown Eyes Parker**

 **Rated: T**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **.**

 **i. a sobriety meeting**

She didn't look like the other addicts in the group. She was dressed impeccably in white shorts and a matching blazer and gladiator sandals. Despite the humidity and lack of AC in the church fellowship hall, her hair was still in a sleek ponytail, not a single hair was out of place. With high cheekbones and a smattering of delicate freckles that were dusted across her nose, she was by far the most striking creature that Sherlock Holmes had ever seen in his life.

Sherlock didn't make it a point to have interactions with other people in the sobriety group. But he was drawn to her like a moth was drawn to a flame. Even though he didn't believe in fate, he couldn't help but think that maybe they were supposed to meet.

He went over to where she was standing all by herself and struck up a conversation with her right away. "Hello. My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"Joan Watson," she answered, moving her cup of coffee to her left hand and shaking his.

"Doctor Watson, I presume."

Joan sighed. "Formally. How did you know?"

"Your hands," Sherlock replied.

"Oh. For a second there I thought you were psychic."

"Not psychic. Just highly observant," Sherlock said, looking her over. "I can tell just by looking at you how long you've been sober and what your drug of choice was."

Joan looked at him wearily. "Oh really?"

"Yes. Do you want me to prove it to you?" Sherlock asked, eager to show off his skills to the newcomer, not caring that wooing a fellow addict would be considered a very poor choice in judgement on his part.

It wasn't like he was going to invite her back to his place to get high later on.

"Try me," Joan dared him, regarding him with interest.

"Gabapentin and Codeine," Sherlock said. "I'd mark your sobriety to about 28 days."

"Close. It's been 29," Joan answered, her reserved demeanor dropping just a little bit. "I just got out of rehab yesterday. My therapist said this was one of the best sobriety groups in New York City. So, how about you? How long have you been sober and what was your drug of choice?"

Instead of closing himself off like he usually did when somebody asked him about his addiction and road to recovery, Sherlock found himself spilling all of his secrets to her.

It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

 **ii. at a university party**

Joan Watson was in a corner all by herself, observing the other party goers, a cigarette was between her fingers and she took an occasional puff, blowing smoke out of her red-stained lips. She was wearing a plaid mini-skirt, sheer black tights and a vintage t-shirt with Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly was printed on it. Her dark hair, which was usually styled so carefully, had been teased within an inch of its life and she was wearing thick eyeliner.

She was in the same philosophy class as Sherlock but he had never really talked to her. Sure, he countered some of her statements or answers to their professor's questions. But he had pegged her as an uptight American, not really worthy of his time or attention outside of class.

Tonight, he was completely rethinking _that_ assessment.

"Stop staring and go talk to her!" His best friend Marcus Bell said as he was pulled away by his girlfriend, Kitty Winters.

"Seriously Sherlock," Kitty added. "How long has it been since you've had a girlfriend anyways?"

"I am _not_ looking for a girlfriend!" Sherlock insisted but the pair was already gone, probably in search of an empty room so they could make out.

She caught his eye and almost smiled at him before taking another drag from her cigarette. It was almost like a challenge and Sherlock was never one to back down from a challenge.

He went over to her and smiled at her. "You're not drinking tonight Joan?"

Joan shook her head. "Nope. Designated driver. My roommate likes to party a little too hard. You're not drinking either."

"My family is prone to addiction," Sherlock answered.

"I see."

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," he said.

"I know who you are. We're in the same class," Joan replied, stubbing out her cigarette and lighting another. "You're always shooting down my answers like you're the smartest person in the whole entire world. Smoke?"

"Sure," Sherlock said, taking the cigarette from her and taking a puff, he handed it back to her and she placed it between her lips. "I am you know."

"One of them," she conceded, passing the cigarette back to him.

"You're pretty brilliant yourself," Sherlock admitted. "A little uptight but brilliant all the same."

Joan frowned at him. "I am _not_ uptight!" She flicked some ash from her cigarette and regarded him with a dark stare.

"You certainly don't look it tonight."

"Don't be a pig!"

"I didn't say anything!" Sherlock protested.

"No. But I know what you're thinking. You have a reputation, Sherlock Holmes and I am not that kind of girl!" Joan answered.

"I don't think you _know_ what kind of girl you are," Sherlock told her.

"Well. No. But I'm most certainly not _that_ kind of girl!"

"We'll see about that," Sherlock answered.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Joan asked as he pushed her lightly against the wall.

"I want to kiss you," Sherlock said.

"K-k-kiss me?" Joan stuttered.

"Yeah. . . would you mind if I did?"

"I-I-I. . ."

" _Joanie!"_

"That's my roommate," Joan told him.

"Joanie, I need to go. I'm not feeling so well! I think I'm going to be sick."

Sherlock released her. "You better go and see if she's alright. I'll see you in class, Joan. Maybe we can discuss a raincheck?"

"A raincheck?" Joan asked. "I thought you thought I'm uptight."

"Joanie!? _Please!_ "

Joan sighed. "Never mind. We can talk about it later. It was nice meeting you for real this time, Sherlock."

And then she went over to her friend, held her upright and helped her out the door.

 **iii. on a blind date**

Sherlock never gave into his friends. But he was doing it this time just to prove them wrong. He didn't need their help in finding dates and he certainly wouldn't have anything in common or even _like_ this Joan Watson that they were forever singing the praises of.

He didn't even like dating. Dinner, a movie and conversation was an extremely tedious practice when all he wanted to do was skip to the part where he took his date to bed.

He showed up at their agreed meeting place 20 minutes late so she would know he wasn't serious about her.

She was waiting for him outside the restaurant in high heels and a simple black dress that flared out at the skirt. She was prettier in real life than she was on her Instagram profile. He swallowed hard.

 _Sherlock 0, his friends 1._

"Sherlock?" Joan asked, coming towards him with a smile. "Hi! I've heard so much about you from my friends."

"Joan," Sherlock said. "I've heard so much about you too. How about we go and get some dinner?"

Joan's face lit up. "Sounds good! I'm _starving_! I just worked a double at the hospital!"

Maybe she was going to be worth getting to know better.

 **iv. in the hospital**

"Where's Dr. Doyle?" Sherlock asked as a woman in a white lab coat came in and pulled his blinds up.

"He's at a medical conference in Switzerland," she answered. "But I'm perfectly qualified to take care of you. I'm Dr. Joan Watson. Dr. Doyle briefed me on your case. How are you today?"

"I've been worse," Sherlock answered as she came over to him and started to examine where he'd gotten shot three weeks earlier.

"It's healing up nicely," Joan told him, brushing cold fingers over the puckered bullet wound. "Dr. Doyle did such a good job with the surgery, you're not even going to be able to tell that you were ever shot."

"What a shame, I was hoping that I'd have to tell all the women that I ever sleep with the reason behind the scars."

"You'll just have to regale them with other war stories," Joan answered, snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves. "I'm sure you must have _plenty_ of them. I hear you're quite the private detective."

"Mmmh. Yes," Sherlock replied.

"The stitches are ready to come out," Joan said.

"I could have done _that_ myself," Sherlock told her.

Joan looked at him like he was crazy. "That would _not_ have been a good idea!"

"Well, I've done it before!" Sherlock retorted. "Nobody's ever told me that it was wrong before."

"Well. Not everybody is _me_!" Joan refuted, she softened. "Who looks after you anyways, Sherlock?"

"I look after myself, thank you very much!" Sherlock said.

"Oh, I see."

"You disapprove?"

"Everybody needs somebody to look out for them Sherlock."

"If you are going to be my doctor, you have to know that I hate people telling me what I should do or what's good for me," Sherlock informed her.

"Okay!" Joan said cheerfully.

Sherlock got the feeling that this wasn't going to stop her from giving him suggestions if they were to ever cross paths again.

 **v. after a one-night stand**

Sherlock didn't always ask the names of his one-night stands but there was something about this fiery Asian girl that compelled him to ask, to maybe even get her number before she slipped out of his brownstone.

"Wait!" Sherlock called as she gathered up her coat and purse, sitting up and pulling on his pants and a sweater, following her out the bedroom door.

She turned around and looked at him. "Yes?"

"Maybe I should have asked this last night but I need to know before you go. . . what's your name?"

Her lips quirked into a tiny smile. "Joan, Joan Watson. What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he replied. "I know this isn't the point of a one-night stand but do you think maybe I could call you again sometime?"

"I thought we both agreed we weren't looking for anything that included strings," Joan said.

"It wouldn't include strings. I'm just thinking that maybe we can do this again sometime, you know, if we ever got the urge to see each other again in this way."

Joan smiled. "Are you really _that_ confident in your abilities?"

"I'd like to think that I am. And even if I wasn't very good, _you_ , my dear were very, very good!"

Joan looked flattered and then rummaged through her purse for a slip of paper and pen. On the back of a Bloomingdale's receipt, she wrote her cell phone number before walking over to him and slipping it in his pants pocket. She pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

"Don't be a stranger," she whispered and then she was gone.

Sherlock couldn't wait to get to know Joan Watson better.

 **_The End_**

 **.**

 **Author's Note:**

 **I have had this idea in my head for most of 2015. I finally decided to write it because 2016 is almost here. I don't think I executed it the way I wanted to but I'm willing to put it out there and see what everybody thinks.**

 **Wishing everybody has a Happy New Year! I'll see you with more Joanlock stories in 2016. Thanks for everybody who reviewed my multiple stories this past year even though most of them were tags to a Controlled Descent.**

 **Lots of Love,**

 **Holly, 12/28/2015_**


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